


Of Flowers and Their Feelings

by Newt (The_Incredible_Newt)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Jaskier's mistake, Love Confessions, M/M, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22878451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Incredible_Newt/pseuds/Newt
Summary: The air is calm, the temperature is perfect and yet Jaskier can't sleep because his heart is going to overflow.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 350





	Of Flowers and Their Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> First came a tweet ( @DeviantNewt, if you're interested), then... this.
> 
> I haven't written in a loooong time, English isn't my first language and I'm having a lot of anxiety over this but there, my first step back in the game!
> 
> Please don't hesitate to let me know what you thought of it. Enjoy!

If there was one thing Jaskier wanted to remember until his last breath, it was his travels with Geralt. The world would probably remember his songs as his greatest works, but Jaskier knew better : his true masterpiece was his friendship with the stern witcher.

Day after day, year after year, Jaskier had patiently tamed the man and been tamed by him in return. People liked to call him the Witcher's pet, or the Witcher's bitch if they were a little less polite, but really it was Geralt who was his, in the same way one can befriend a raven : show it friendship and it will do the same in return, in its own strange way. 

Geralt was starving, Jaskier had realized. Not for food, his frankly gross diet of "anything I can find will do, even if it's barely dead" saw to that but for love. The ridiculous sex drive caused by the mutagens only explained so much of his escapades to brothels, after all.

What really made Jaskier realize that his friend craved nice words was his face when a child exclaimed happily to their mother "Ma! Look, look, it's the White Wolf, like in the song!"

To a casual observer, Geralt looked as surly as ever but Jaskier was no casual observer.

Watching people was part of his craft and moreover, he was Geralt's best friend, which was why he saw the way he relaxed, no matter how infinitesimal. The way his shoulder shed tension ever so slightly, or how his hands became looser around Roach's reins and Jaskier's favorite, the way his eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. Every once in a while, Geralt would even smile at his admirer.

Granted, it was barely visible, but Jaskier could attest it was indeed a smile! 

Who could blame a poor bard for falling so hard in love with such a man, then? 

Jaskier's love for Geralt was such a big part of his self that he couldn't tell you of a day he hadn't loved his witcher. Nor could he tell where his love ended and where his own person started : as long as he would breathe, Jaskier would love Geralt, because the man deserved it and if someone had to, Jaskier was more than happy to be this someone. 

All those thoughts gently swirled in Jaskier's head as he laid on his back between their campfire and Geralt. 

There, another thing that made Geralt deserving of so much more than what he was given : he always made sure Jaskier was closer to the fire. Even during summer nights like this one when the fire was more for light than warmth. 

The crackling of the fire and Geralt's slow breathing didn't manage to lull Jaskier to sleep as they usually did. He didn't see why not : the patches of starlit sky visible in between branches and the very noticeable absence of anything of the monstrous kind should have made for a perfect setting for sleep, yet he could only think about Geralt. 

"I can't sleep," he whispered, barely above a breath, eyes fixed on the stars. "I can't sleep and there you are, dead to the world and all I can think about is how you're really not the Butcher of Blaviken."

Jaskier sighed. 

"Obviously you are him but even though you never told me what happened, I am sure you were the wronged party. Geralt, you're so much more than the image I can paint of you in my songs, you're so much more that I think my heart will burst with all the love I have for you, dear friend."

Jaskier felt like his words were a torrent and the trickle that just passed his lips had shattered a dam. He could not stop for the life of him, he needed Geralt to hear even if he wasn't listening. Or conscious. His words took a feverish tone. 

"I love you. I love you because you deserve it, Geralt. Gods, I would die for you, do you know that? You probably don't have the faintest idea that you are the most important thing in this world to me. I would break my fingers a thousand times, give fucking Valdo Marx a round of applause, anything if it made you happy."

A twig snapped in the fire. 

"I was terrified when I met you and yet something made me look closer. I won't say it was destiny, but you needed a friend and there I was, a lute in my hand, a head full of naive ideas and… bread in my pants. Fucking bread in my pants. I was very stupid, wasn't I? But I stayed and I saw you and I have been loving you more and more since this day."

Still he couldn't stop, murmurs taking a nearly chanting quality like one would use to praise his deity and Jaskier nearly choked on his next words. 

" You are so good, my love. When you have nearly nothing, you give it to the ones who have even less without even expecting a thanks. You would die for the ones who throw stones at you. Oh dear, I don't even have the words… I am so glad I will be able to die saying "I knew Geralt of Rivia." because you deserve to be kno-aaah!"

Jaskier's heartfelt declaration cut off with a yelp as he found himself hauled then crushed to Geralt's chest. 

"Jaskier, it's late and you are loud. Go the fuck to sleep."

Jaskier heard the words more in the rumble of Geralt's chest where his ear was pressed than in the air of the night and felt mortified. Now would be just the right time for the earth to open and swallow him…

"You...you weren't sleeping."

A huff of amusement sounded above his head. 

"I was not."

The bard swallowed with difficulty and found his throat very dry. 

"I was talking about another friend of mine. Also named Geralt, weird coincidence, isn't it?" 

"No, you were not." 

"No I was not," said Jaskier with a sigh of defeat. "I'm so sorry, I-" 

His words once again fled him when Geralt buried his hand in the hair on the back of his head and touched his nose to his hairline. 

"I said 'go the fuck to sleep', Jaskier." Was Geralt… nuzzling his hair? "You can babble some more tomorrow, it's time for silence, not for words, no matter how nice."

Geralt was definitely nuzzling his hair.

Jaskier's heart lost the leaden weight in his chest with yet another exhale and he settled himself more comfortably on top of this mountain of a man that passed for his best friend. While shuffling to fit his limbs more comfortably, he felt something against his thigh. 

A massive something. 

A definitely dick-shaped something. 

Sweet merciful fuck, the something was Geralt's hard dick. Jaskier's open-hearted confession was not unwelcome, apparently. 

Smiling to himself, Jaskier shifted his head up to press a kiss on Geralt's neck, then another, and another. He took the hand pressed to his own chest and cupped the nape of Geralt's neck with it for a second, before letting it slide down, down, down, until it reached the witcher's trousers. Jaskier had started slipping his fingers under the hem when Geralt's large hand clasped his own and brought it back up. 

Flustered, Jaskier tried to untangle himself from Geralt while stammering an apology but he was held in place by a strong arm, his hand still captive.

Eyes still closed, Geralt stroked the hand in his with his thumb and buried his nose in Jaskier's hair again. 

"Shh. Leave it. Maybe later. Sleep now."

Resigned but reassured, Jaskier resettled against Geralt's chest, trying his best to ignore the mouth-watering weight against his thigh. The inhumanly slow heartbeat of Geralt soon made him fall in that trance between sleep and awareness, when your body is already asleep but your mind is still aware.

Tomorrow, they would talk. Tomorrow, they would definitely do other things because Geralt deserved to be loved and for loving him, Jaskier definitely deserved those other things. 

Tomorrow was tomorrow, now was the smell of the forest and the campfire, the sound of Roach lazily grazing, the feel of a solid chest under him and of his hand held tight. Now was time for sleep. 

Under his ear, Jaskier heard a last rumble before surrendering to slumber. 

"Sleep well, my heart." 

**Author's Note:**

> Like my friend Zonzon said "Jaskier's First Mistake was to think Geralt of Rivia ever sleeps"


End file.
